The Main Cages

by Philip Marsden

  Tyler told him to leave the rope and he manoeuvred the lifeboat in, backed off, then dropped in again. Cameron stood on the gunwale. The two boats were together for an instant and he jumped. Jack and Croyden hauled him in. Tyler tried again. But the seas caught the Golden Sands and pushed her away.

  They were drifting clear of the Curate’s lee now. The seas were growing. Their tops were starting to break again. The anchor’s weight was holding the boat into the wind as they drifted, but the pitch was increasing. They were shipping a good deal of water.

  Tyler came in again and they managed to pull Charlie Treneer aboard but all the time the seas were rising. The first rocks around Maenmor were two hundred yards away and as they drew closer the tide began to do odd things with the water. In places it came welling up beside the Golden Sands in smooth bubble-like patches. Or funnelled through an unseen channel. Or rose in crests that broke over the sides.

  It was just a knock – a jolt on the starboard quarter – and it spun the Golden Sands a little and then they were free. From the lifeboat, Tyler saw it and he was able to manoeuvre the lifeboat around the rock and come back in.

  Then the Golden Sands struck again – harder this time. Dougie Tyler was thrown forward. He fell into the scuppers. His uncle brought the lifeboat in again and Red Stephens jumped across. Maenmor was now fifty yards astern. With the weight of water in her, the Golden Sands’s drift had slowed.

  They pulled Joe Stephens aboard. Dougie went to get Tacker but he was in the wheelhouse. Edwin told him, ‘You go – I’ll get they two!’

  Dougie stepped onto the gunwale, waited for the lifeboat and jumped across. Tyler dropped the boat back again and they all watched the Golden Sands, waiting for Edwin to reappear with the Garretts. The sun fell through the cloud and they shielded their eyes and squinted. The shape of Maenmor rose in silhouette and the Golden Sands had gone into its shadow. She was three, four seas off the rock and in the troughs they could see only her funnel and the top of the deckhouse.

  Rising on a high crest, they saw Edwin going towards the wheelhouse and Tacker stepping out, over the broken door. He shouted something to Edwin but then the back of the next wave rose between the two boats. The sun shone green through its rounded crest and all those on the lifeboat waited for the next to come and when it did they looked down on the Golden Sands. She was upside down.

  The water was filling with debris. From the lifeboat they could see boards and boxes bouncing in the surf. Tyler brought her in as close as he dared.

  ‘Astern!’

  It was Double who spotted a figure just off the wreck’s stern. The others saw him too. It was Jimmy. His bald head was bobbing in the water. He was being washed away from the boat.

  Tyler pushed the lifeboat in and Jack leaned over the bows with a boathook.

  ‘Five feet!’ he shouted back to the helm.

  Jimmy was being swept down by the tide. He was now well astern of his boat. Behind him was the gap between the two peaks of Maenmor and the sun was flooding through it, picking out the milky tops of the seas as they broke and poured into it.

  Jack leaned out over the foredeck. He was still short of Jimmy but he swung the boathook forward. Jimmy was struggling in the water. He could not reach the hook. The tide was taking him away and Tyler dropped back. He came in again, close in under the rock. Jimmy was in the sun now and they got to about three yards from him and Jack extended the hook again. This time it fell within his grasp. It struck the water by his shoulder. But he made no move towards it.

  ‘Take it!’ shouted Jack.

  The water around him was white and foamy.

  ‘Take it!’ repeated Jack.

  Jimmy stared up at those on the lifeboat; he seemed to be scowling. The tide was dragging him towards the gap. He was caught by a sea and he rose with it as it broke and the spray engulfed him. Tyler slammed the lifeboat into reverse. They watched the gap. The wave was squeezing between the rocks and there was no sign of Jimmy. Briefly he resurfaced behind the crest. They could see his head and one arm raised against the rock and the following wave was breaking and the great bulk of the water was driving through the gap, roaring and echoing in the tunnel, and it filled the tunnel and he was gone.

  Tyler brought the boat back up towards the Golden Sands. She was being shunted up against the rock with each wave, dropping back and dragging down again with a long scraping sound. A crack had opened up along her port bow and each time she rolled down the rock, it grew. She was starting to break up.

  There was no sign of Edwin, but they spotted Tacker. He was in the water astern, struggling to keep a grip on the boat’s rudder. The seas were rolling in over the upturned hull but Tacker was sheltered at the stern, managing to hang on.

  Tyler nudged the bows up towards him. Jack moved into position to grab him but a larger wave came and threw the lifeboat out of position. When the wave pulled back again, Tacker was not there.

  They spotted him some yards off. He managed to reach the rudder again. Tyler came in. The bows of the lifeboat rode on up over the Golden Sands’s hull and Jack reached out with the boathook. Tacker lunged at it. He caught it – but he could not hang on. The lifeboat rolled off the Golden Sands and Tyler reversed out.

  On board the lifeboat Tyler looked to Croyden and Croyden nodded. There was never really a question whether they would go in again. The stricken ship was lower down the rock and the seas were swamping her. He drove up over the hull to within inches of Tacker. This time he managed to grab at the life-lines and three pairs of hands caught his shoulders and arms. They heard the next wave breaking behind them and knew that Tyler would be pulling them out again. They hung on to Tacker and hauled him in over the side.

  But Tyler did not reverse the lifeboat. The next wave broke and caught the stern and Tyler was unable to back off. The lifeboat dropped into the trough, onto her beam-end. The coming sea rolled her over, up against the Golden Sands and over the top. When she dropped back she fell deck-first into the rock. And then the next sea came in and turned to foam on the rock and the boats were driven up again, and that sea dropped back and the next rose and broke and shunted the two boats up against each other and against the rock and then the next sea broke behind that one, building slowly and breaking and behind it already was the next wave rising, and the next …

  CHAPTER 33

  ‘We’re simply trying to establish cause, Mr Tyler.’ ‘– was just that the last time we went in, sir, that last time – we couldn’t get off like we had before, he’d been putting us in and pulling us out of there and he –’

  ‘Who, Mr Tyler?’

  ‘Cox.’

  ‘Coxswain Tyler – your uncle?’

  ‘Yes, sir – been putting us in and bringing us out again like the sea was smooth as anything, sir. He could work that boat like his own feet even in they seas, even when we was just yards from the rock, I never seen nothing like it. I was never worried for an instant not until we was upside-down and then, well, was too late to worry then –’

  ‘Could you explain to the inquest what occurred in the moments immediately preceding the capsize?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Before you went over.’

  ‘Well, he brought us in again right on top of the hull and we managed to get Tacker aboard but you could hear the two boats against each other and the seas breaking all around and we was right on top of her but our stern was still in the water and there was still power, I suppose. There was one sea coming, much bigger’n the rest and we could see him with a nasty great top and all a’ we looking in the water for Edwin, sir, and there was still no sign. Someone said they could see him aft of the Sands – and I was thinking we’ll go back now, before that ’un comes in and then we’ll come in again and if Edwin was in the water that was better for we to pick him up, better for him too, clear of the rock and I was thinking he’ll pull us back out now and bring us in again, he’ll pull us back now but that big sea was already breaking and he was a big ’un and we was still in th
ere …’

  ‘Was there no indication at the time why Coxswain Tyler was unable to reverse out of danger?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘And when the boat went over, she did not manage to right herself, Mr Tyler?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Even though she was designed to do so?’

  ‘That’s right, sir, she was a self-righter. But to tell ’ee the truth we never liked they self-righters – easier they come up, easier they go over in the first place. That’s what we always said.’

  ‘Did you see any other survivors?’

  ‘Wasn’t easy in that sea. I was on the rock but I couldn’t get no higher and I was watching each of the swells, see if I be washed off again. Below me was the wrecks, both bottom-up and knocking against each other and there was all manner a’ stuff in the water … I did see one other, in a lifejacket, couldn’t see who it was – and he got up on the rock along from me and he was struggling to keep there and one big sea comes in and covers him but he’s still there when it’s gone and I call out to him and he waves up at me. Still couldn’t see who it was – maybe it was Croy or Jack from the bows but then the next big sea comes in and he’s gone. The boats was still bottom-up and they was mostly trapped inside, I suppose. She didn’t start to break up for a good while –’

  ‘How long, Mr Tyler?’

  ‘Hard to say, really, but once they started to go they went quick. Soon there was everything in the surf and I saw bodies among it all but I couldn’t count them and I couldn’t see who each was, they was all mixed up and the tide was taking them off but I shouted, I was shouting, sir, and I never saw one move. Not one of they bodies moved the whole time, except for being moved by the seas, couldn’t move on their own even though I was shouting. I was shouting and shouting, sir …’

  The morning after the accident a muddy haze covered the town. The wind had eased but there was still a long swell that broke high and white round the cliffs of Pendhu. At the lifeboat station, the RNLI flag flew at half-mast. Many in the town drifted up there. They found themselves going there without even thinking why. It just seemed the natural place to be, closest to what was gone. They formed small groups above the slipway, on the bank beside it and at the entrance to the empty shed. It was as if they were waiting for something, for news. But there was no news. Twelve bodies had been recovered the previous evening. They laid them out on the quay. The pilchard driver Guide Me had gone out to the rocks that evening and the wind had eased and they picked up young Dougie Tyler, shivering and bloody but alive. The boat came in through the Gaps and by that time everyone knew. They had gathered to stand two or three deep on the Town Quay and the East Quay and along the front between them. They stood in silence, looking down on the deck of the Guide Me and the bodies laid out like fish upon it. The body of Jimmy Garrett was never found. Many of those who came to the station the next day brought flowers and left them inside the open doors. They then went out to stand on the bank. Major Franks was inside with the Secretary and some of the crew who had not been available the day before. Those men did not say much but stood together in one corner of the shed while Major Franks and the Secretary sat at a table registering volunteers for an auxiliary crew. A relief lifeboat was already on its way from South Wales.

  In the evening, the salvage crew found the stern section of the Kenneth Lee. They brought it into the harbour and placed it on the East Quay and all could see the short length of chain locked tight around the propeller. The chain was found to be the same gauge as that attached to the anchor of the Golden Sands.

  The jury of the inquest returned a verdict of death from drowning by misadventure.

  A month later, the Board of Trade inquiry concluded that the accident occurred ‘from a tragic set of circumstances, any one of which was unlikely to have resulted in disaster but which combined in rapid and terrible succession to make it unavoidable’.

  No one was satisfied with this conclusion. Not the families of those lost, nor the Lifeboat Committee, nor the coastguard. Nor the reporters who could find no one to blame and only managed to talk to one man willing to give a statement after the hearing. ‘Just a ghastly, ghastly calamity,’ explained Mr Bryant. ‘But the inquiry was well briefed. All safety procedures had been observed and I suppose if there are lessons to be learned we should simply remember that on this earth of ours it is the elements that hold sway in the end …’

  Mr Bryant went back to Birmingham immediately afterwards. He never returned to Polmayne.

  The funerals all took place during the first week. On 19 September a memorial service was held at St Cuby’s church.

  For the third day in a row it was raining. A strong southwesterly was driving showers in across the bay. The water shortages were forgotten. Above the churchyard the wind tugged at the beech-tops and against a grey and shifting sky flowed streams of still-green leaves.

  Inside the church, it was packed. Those who could not get in stood in hats and raincoats on the verges above the creek. They lined the path that led down from the lych-gate. They stood with their backs to the shiny-leaved camellias, beneath the dripping myrtle trees and magnolias. They had come from as far afield as Falmouth and Fowey and St Ives. They took off their hats in the rain and held them as the families passed.

  The first four rows of the church had white name-cards spaced along them. Major Franks escorted the Lord Lieutenant to the front pew. Behind him were the District and Divisional Inspectors of Lifeboats, the Chief Inspector and District Officers of Coastguards, the Secretary and Officers of the Polmayne Lifeboat Committee and two police constables. Captain Maddocks from Porth was there in his old naval uniform and beside him sat Captain Williams. Behind them were members of the launch crew and the LSA Company and their families and behind them fifteen rows reserved for the bereaved.

  Toper Walsh had arrived long before the service. For two hours he had been sitting alone beneath the window of St Anthony and St Francis. The multi-coloured light fell on his bare head and on his shoulders. Since the accident and the loss of his only son, Double, Toper had hardly left his house.

  In a dark suit, and still limping, Lawrence Rose came in with Mrs Cameron. She had taken the train down from Newbury. Despite her late husband’s decade of Petrel racing, it was only the second time she had been to Polmayne.

  The Tylers arrived at the same time as the Stephenses. A grim-faced silence hung between them. Many thought that the weight of shared grief would bring the two families together but the only ones who could have initiated a reconciliation were those who had died at sea.

  Coxswain Tyler’s widow had a place reserved in the front pews and she was taken up the aisle on the arm of the only survivor, her nephew Dougie Tyler.

  Mrs Cuffe arrived on her own, in the best coat she had had dyed black for Whaler’s funeral in July. She was joined by Annie Treneer and Frank and Agnes Treneer and Croyden’s widow Maggie and other members of the family.

  Tommy Treneer came last. He was helped down the steps by a sidesman. Under his arm was his old Coxswain’s cap, and his three RNLI service medals hung from his jacket. At the font he shook off the assistance of the sidesman and meandered down the aisle. Everyone watched his progress. Two or three times he stopped and put a hand on a pew-end. He looked unsure where he was. In the end Major Franks stood and led him to his seat.

  It was ten past eleven when the Bishop of Truro and Parson Hooper and the Methodist ministers came out of the vestry and took their places on the chancel steps. The congregation rustled to its feet. The Bishop held up his arms: ‘I am the Resurrection and the Light.’

  After the first hymn, Major Franks read Psalm 139: ‘… If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me …’

  Parson Hooper climbed slowly into the pulpit. He trembled as he began his address. He described the debt that he and many others felt towards those who had died: ‘I for one had never understood, never really
understood, the supreme Christian duty of lifeboatmen. It is gallantry beyond words – to go out into the merciless sea when all others are heading for home, to rescue from the jaws of death men and women who are often complete strangers.’

  He bent his head and his hands gripped the rim of the pulpit. Some in the congregation thought he had finished and there was a creaking of pews as they shifted in their seats. But he looked up again. The ones sitting beneath him could see the tears in his eyes.

  ‘I watched those men … I watched them as they brought us aboard the ship. I watched their faces as they escorted us from one boat to the other. I watched them as they went back into the maelstrom to collect the others – and I honestly believe that had they known what was to befall them they would still have gone. They would not have hesitated for an instant. Let us always remember their sacrifice. We must never forget.’

  The service ended with ‘Eternal Father, Strong to Save’. Outside the church, the rain had eased. Mr Evans the schoolmaster had been standing on the steps beneath the tower conducting those unable to get in.

  Who bidd’st the mighty ocean deep

  Its own appointed hour keep …

  As the verses progressed, those who had been sheltering from the showers came forward and sang together and their rising voices joined with those inside the church to ring out across the river.

  From rock and tempest, fire and foe

  Protect them wheresoe’er they go …

  The clouds thinned and a burst of vagrant sun swept over the church roof, across the water and up along the back of Pendhu Point and the just-ploughed fields of Ivor Dawkins.